Bloodlust
by Li'l Lawliet
Summary: So much blood… Had he… Had he really done this? W…Why? Why did they deserve this? Why did he need to hurt them more? He ran his fingers through his hair, convincing himself he hadn't done this. There was no mistake… This was his work. :Character Death:
1. Prologue

Blood, blood… Everywhere… The liquid looked almost black in the dim flickering light of the candles, the smell of the iron strong. So much blood… It covered everything… His vision of the room shook and flashed as he stumbled over onto the floor, into a deep red puddle. He shook his head and dug his hands through his hair.

Why, why…? He'd seen this kind of massacre before, but this was the work of his own hands, his hands that still belonged to the child that he still was. Why did he…? His muscles tensed and he clenched his teeth. No, no, no…! He gripped his hands in the warm crimson liquid spreading across the carpet, staining everything it touched.

Dammit, no! Shakily, he stood, sight blurred. He stumbled over against a wall, smearing the blood he'd fallen in. He dropped to his knees in front of the limp form of a child; the only victim that still resembled what once was a human. He knelt over, biting his lip to hold back tears at what he'd done.

So much blood… He choked back a sob, clapping his hands and transmuting a blade. He wouldn't take this. How… How could he have known he would do this?

"It's not… Not like I _wanted _to do this…!" he choked out. The blade glinted in the pale moonlight and yellow flames that illuminated the room. He stared down at it, mind racing.

No, no… He bit his lip and raised the makeshift knife. If the only way he could end this was by… by death… then he'd do it. He slashed slender cuts across his remaining human arm and shrieked out in pain, cries heard by no ears.

"No…" He hunched over and chuckled. "I really am a coward."

The last few candles blew out in a cold wind from the open window, and, slowly, the boy drifted to sleep in a pool of liquid darker than the stone he'd searched for for so long.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

**Oh noes, another crappy horror fanfiction? Why yes, it is! 'Cept I've got a plot thingy planned out, so this'll (hopefully) be better than your everyday, run-of-the-mill, 'Al dies' stories. Because no, Al does not die. Al is quite alive… For a while. Mwahahahahaha… Nah, I'm yanking yer chain, Al's too cute to die. Please review. Ya know how rude it is to open a story, read it, and still not review? Authors **_**love **_**getting reviews, even if the review is only a word long! Come on now… Don't **_**you **_**like it when people review **_**your **_**stories? Toss me a freaking bone here, I actually worked really hard on planning this story!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, it'd probably be a lot bloodier, and a lot less well written. That and Ed and Winry would finally hook up. –Shifty eyes-**

There were two slight 'clicks' as the door to the old yellow Rockbell house was opened and shut quietly. In between the noises, the heavy rain could be heard.

"Winry!" the man called into the large house. "Are you home?"

"Oh!" Winry nervously rushed into the entrance hall, wiping her hands dry on a dishrag, "Thank you again for checking in, sir," she said respectfully, bowing her head, "I was cooking, and…"

Roy shook his head politely. "That's quite alright, Winry. How is he holding up?"

She paused, eyes saddening. "Not so good, I think… He doesn't seem to believe me. I tried telling him again last night, and he just sort of… It looked like it took him a second to understand what I said, and then he made a face like this," she demonstrated a face of worried realization, "And he just sort of… Walked out. He hasn't come home yet. I'm… I'm kind of worried. Should we look for him?"

"I don't think so," he answered. "What's the worst the kid can get himself into?"

Winry sighed. "I suppose you're right. …Would you like some breakfast?"

-

Edward's eyes fluttered open, stinging at first from the bright gray sunlight cast from the rainy morning. Wait… What was that smell?

His eyes widened as his vision focused, and what the smell was became apparent.

Breathing quickening, he stood and looked around himself frantically, looking for another living person. There was so much blood, it was hard to tell what the original color of the large room was. Books and papers littered the floor along with bodies, most drenched in the same red liquid. Candles were placed carefully on shelves near the ceiling, though all were blown out.

Edward slowly backed up from the gory scene, feeling behind him for a door handle.

He fell backwards into the hallway, dimmer than the room due to the fact that no windows lined it. He staggered down the hall, falling against various walls for support and trying his best not to look into other rooms, knowing that they, too, would be coated in the disgusting stuff shed on the first room's carpet.

Finally, as if having run forever through that strong smell of iron, he reached a large door and frantically pulled on the bronze handle.

The light blinded him at first, but he continued running through the drizzling rain. So many people were looking at him. He laughed a little bit, slowing down. What was he running from? The blood? _That's stupid, _he told himself. He slowed to a walk, pacing through the tree-lined street.

Glancing around, he suddenly realized that he didn't recognize the scenery. Widely spaced houses backed up to trees, and the street was paved with tightly packed mud and gravel. He shrugged and walked up to a street vendor.

"Could you tell me where I am?" he asked nervously, "I'm kind of lost."

The man laughed. "Outskirts of Dublith. You been huntin', son?" he asked, gesturing at the bloodstained shirt and gloves.

"Uh, no. Could I get a map?"

"Sure, I've probably got one somewhere down here," the vendor reached down and began searching through the cabinet behind his booth. "You haven't been hunting? What've you been doin', then? You the new kid down at the butcher shop?"

"No," Ed replied, distracted by a group of kids that ran by, pushing one another in a playful fashion.

"Well," the vendor said, turning and handing Ed a worn old map, "This is the best I can find. What've you been doin', anyway? Most people don' walk around with that much blood on their shirts, an'—God, son, what happened to your arm?!"

Ed glanced down to his left arm, realizing that his sleeve had been torn, and was exposing bare flesh with deep cuts, running down its length.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, the vendor tilted back in his folding chair and laughed. "Aw, I get it. You're comin' back from a fight, ain't ya? You're one o' them punks, eh? Well, you be good 'n' get back home, son, so your parents don't worry."

"…Sure." Ed thanked him and left, not caring to continue the pointless chatter.

He ran down the street for a bit, before slowing to a jog. The group of three or four children from before had been running parallel to the path as well, although they ran downhill from it, near the stream. As Edward slowed even more into a fast-paced walking, he noticed the children were no longer there. He glanced behind him, seeing the kids gathering near one spot in the stream. Shrugging with mild curiosity, he began to drop down the hill towards them.

"Haha, look at it," a young boy snickered, harshly poking something with a stick.

"Do you think it's dying?" asked a short-haired girl as she leaned in to see whatever they were looking at.

'Who cares?" answered a third. He, too, reached for a nearby fallen branch. "Gross, it's bleeding."

"Hey, maybe we should stop." The girl's voice sounded worried now, and her small hand attempted to reach over the shoulder of the boy in front of her. The boy behind her laughed, pushing her back violently and causing her to fall over the other and collide with a rough stone in the brook.

"N-Nathaniel!" she sobbed, tears not quite coming out yet. Her arms splashed wildly in the shallow water around her, until they eventually closed around a small body. She lifted it from the water and brought it to her chest, now crying completely. "Look at it! Y-You killed it!"

Ed quickly walked closer to the stream to see what she held. Her quivering fingers parted a bit, revealing a patch of damp golden feathers.

The girl's body wracked with whimpers. "You killed it!" she accused in a trembling voice. "You—Y-you,"

The boys only exchanged grins before chuckling once again.

"It was just a canary, Geez!"

"I—I—"

"You're such a wimp, Vanessa."

"It was just a stupid bird."

Turning to move away from the pathetic scene (despite his pity for the girl), Ed stopped when he heard a bigger splash and gargling water.

He turned widened eyes back to the stream.

"You jerk!" Vanessa shrieked as she shoved Nathaniel's face into the water. "Y-You killed it!" Tears poured in streams from her wide, furious eyes.

Something overwhelmed Edward. He ran towards her, quickly and smoothly transmuting his right arm into a blade and tackling her to the floor of the thin brook. She shrieked frantically as he held the sharp edge to her throat, barely breaking skin. More sobs shook her small frame.

The boy was coughing and sputtering water, crouched over the surface of the stream.

"You're insane!" he yelled, intending it for the girl. However, Ed's breath caught in his throat as he heard it, something clicking. The blood splattered that building because of him. He fell back, allowing the whimpering girl to curl up, a third of her body still in the stream.

-

Water dried from his clothes as he ran. Where had the day gone? It was already sunset as he fled. He recognized, vaguely, that the stream had died to a small pond and the grass and foresting around him had slowly turned to suburban houses.

His energy was running low. He tripped on uneven pavement, falling and scraping his cheek and hand.

"…Dammit. Dammit." His eyes watered in desperation. He should turn himself in. He should get the death penalty.

Weak legs carried him further to a familiar white-painted shop, meat hanging from the ceiling in front of the window.

A small bell rang, signaling his entry just as the last traces of the sun disappeared.


End file.
